Sometimes it’s a refuge, sometimes it’s a chaotic outburst; sometimes my reflector or even a confrontation. It’s always the support for both my ground and my sky, the vessel and the alchemy – always personal and even sacred.
Places of creativity are like that.
So is Art.
Sometimes the space is tidy, mostly not, but it’s always alive with all kinds of things as well as art.
Sometimes the muse is very present and sometimes nothing is happening. Whichever way the studio is an extension of all the inspiration and expression.
Here the process is everything.
And living in Japan, Zen has grown into my bones. I can see differently.
My once preconceived ideas of some exclusive zen aesthetic has melted into my everyday, my ordinary. More melted up rather than melted down because this sensitivity, let’s call it ‘Zensight’, is everywhere.
It’s the very art of it.
We’re all familiar with the wisdom of ‘Less is more’ and now I can see it as much more than an aesthetic. It’s about coming back to that core quality in us so that it can release our authenticity, our presence.
A short while ago when I was cleaning up in the studio I picked out a crumpled piece of paper from the pan and for no particular reason it got my attention. So I then placed it on a large sheet of white paper.
And its vibe at once changed.
It felt different in some way, suddenly elegant and interesting; and yet it was simply sitting there in all its innocence without any pretence or significance, beautiful by itself. I could see it would still be complete as it had been just lying on the floor.
So here I am asking, is its beauty unto itself or something that I project onto it?
There’s paradox in this.
And Zen is very paradoxical.